


Sweet Nothings Bakery

by Moonrose91



Series: A Collection of WIPs [3]
Category: Fantastic Four, Marvel, The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Other relationships would be spoilers, Prompt Fic, The Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov one is friendship, The only reason Thor/Loki happens is because in this fic they are not related, The relationships tagged are ones requested in the prompt, at all, in any way shape or form, mentioned characters may or may not show up, otherwise it would not be happening, period the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonrose91/pseuds/Moonrose91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The <i>Sweet Nothings Bakery</i> is a quaint little place that is about to become the center of a soap opera.</p><p>Sort-of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Day Begins with the Coffee of the Gods and a Sausage Roll

**Author's Note:**

> The problem with posting work to another site; I always edit.
> 
>  
> 
> _Always_
> 
>  
> 
> I can't leave it alone.
> 
> This is in response to the prompt [here](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/5758.html?thread=6376318#t6376318).

_Sweet Nothings Bakery_  is a quaint little bakery that sits on a corner.

On the right side of the bakery is an outdoor eating area half-hidden by hedges and half covered by the large red and white striped awning that matches the smaller red and white striped awning over the door that faces out onto the front street.

Right next to the door is a beautiful window that practically makes up the wall that has the words ‘Sweet Nothings Bakery’ printed on it in readable, but antique looking gold lettering in an arc above where beautiful works of pastry art are displayed for the general public while still allowing curious passers-by to peer in.

When said passers-by peer in, they are treated with not just the works of pastry art, but a type of old time bakery setting that seems to have been pulled right from a movie, complete with the eternal dust that comes from the flour.

Nearest to the window, just beyond the pastry art is an old fashioned display case which, in the early morning, is still empty.

The golden trim holds the glass in place and, if one twists slightly to look, they can see the circular gold stands that sit on top of real lace doilies to keep the glass shelves from being scratched (though the bottom shelf is glass over the rich mahogany wood that makes up the bottom half of the display case), patiently waiting for the decorative trays to be set upon them, filled with freshly baked pastries.

The case stretches back until, due to depth perception, it looks like it touches the corner of the open archway that leads to the back room where the baking is done.

At that spot, the first display case is connected to the second (which stops at the utensil, straw, and napkin counter) by a mahogany wood counter that holds an antique looking cash register that matches the golden glass frame, along with a tip jar.

The counter itself flows into the second display case which matches the first if not in size, then in design, the fine workmanship of the golden frame hidden, though all the wood half of the display case is of the less bloody parts of Norse mythology.

If one twists the other way, they can see that the right wall has beautiful square windows that, in essence, frame the booths that have deep red benches with mahogany tables.

The booths are large enough to fit up to six people, but usually any exceeding four prefer to go to the larger dining area outside, which can be seen from the booth windows.

Scattered strategically between the cases and booths and counters are circular tables that hold two to four people, though most hold only two.

It is the type of place that most wouldn’t expect Tony Stark, technological genius and billionaire, to love.

Tony Stark’s employees would be the first to start laughing hysterically because, if you turn in receipts to this place, or talk about this place, Tony immediately loves you more then he already loved his ‘adorable little geeky nerds’.

Because, this is the place where Tony feels the most comfortable and relaxed, and he’s pretty sure that he’ll _lose it_ if this place ever closes.

“Hey, Phil, are you _sure_ you don’t want me to buy this place?” Tony asked as he leaned over the cash register counter, inhaling deeply, as if he did so long enough he could capture every single bit of the bakery and hold in in his lungs for the rest of the day.

He didn’t even twitch at Phil’s patented ‘you are starting to irritate me look’, though he _did_ smile the coffee machines hummed along, half-hidden by the second display case.

“I am quite sure, Tony. It would be counter-productive to the reason I started this place to begin with,” Phil answered calmly, the sound of Bruce removing a tray from the oven causing Tony to drop back onto his own two feet, though he remained half on the counter.

Bruce soon appeared, his curly hair in a hair net, carrying a tray covered in sausage rolls, and already covered with a light dusting of flour.

The tray he was carrying was placed on the heat resistant pad for that purpose next to the coffee makers and Bruce immediately pulled out one of the rectangular trays that matched the stands in color from below the display case, along with a paper lace cover that held the dual purpose of keeping the trays relatively clean, but also decorative enough to match the real lace doilies that the stands sat on.

Bruce was focused on his work, even as he said, “Good morning Tony.”

“Morning Bruce,” Tony answered, smiling brightly, before he focused back on Phil.

“I’m only saying this out of fear that one day I will wake up and you’ll have closed down. Then how will I get Bruce’s supreme flaky pastry or Loki’s infectiously delicious pie or  _your_  glorious coffee with the nummy cookies that make my mornings…and afternoons…and evenings…and possibly my midnight snakings if you were actually  _open_  at midnight, worthwhile?” Tony responded and Phil gave him a slightly irritated look.

“That doesn’t stop you from calling my home phone in hopes I will make you coffee. And I don’t want to know how you found it out. Twice,” Phil answered and Tony didn’t even twitch as he felt a long and lanky body rest along his back, arms folding around Tony’s own, a slightly mocking kiss pressed to his cheek.

“That is because our favorite customer is a multi-billionaire computer genius who probably hacks into government computer systems for fun,” Loki voice answered, his voice vibrating lightly against Tony’s back.

Tony just twisted his head slightly to grin at Loki Laufeyson, who looked far too pleased with himself, but the man still smiled back.

“Good morning to you too, Loki,” Tony greeted and Loki nodded before unwrapping himself from around Tony to head into the back.

Tony turned back to focus on Phil and opened his mouth, only to have Phil cut him off. “Ask me again today and I  _will_  tase you,” Phil warned, even as he walked over and slid the card that read ‘ _Sausage Rolls_ ’ around in front of the tray filled with them.

Tony pouted, but stood up normally, the sounds of more trays, along with Loki and Bruce’s light hearted bickering filtering from the archway.

“I’ll take your word for it. I’ll have the largest coffee of the gods you have, with whipped cream on top and cinnamon sprinkled on the whipped cream, a baker’s dozen of assorted Danishes, and a sausage roll. The baker’s dozen to go,” Tony ordered and Phil gave a nod, even as he turned to call it back when Loki peeked in with a bright smile on his face.

“On it!” Loki answered and Phil shook his head before he prepped the box and went to the back to give it to the madman that was Loki.

He was back rather quickly and Tony was already turned to stare out the decorative window, watching people hurry past.

Behind him, he could hear Phil pouring the coffee and he twisted slightly to watch, privately wondering how anything that seemed like sludge was _the coffee of the gods._

 __It was the first of the five (technically ten as the first five also had a decaf selection) coffees for sale that was called the _Coulson Special_ , but Tony always referred to as ‘the coffee of the gods.’

With his coffee in hand, along with a small plate, Tony headed to the table nearest to the display case and began to chat with the various people here.

Phil and Tony mostly talked (argued) about Phil’s decision to close the bakery on Sundays so he could do custom orders.

Tony was for that (so long as he could get his coffee and such still) while Phil felt that closing on the biggest day for sales (they were two blocks away from the nearest church) was stupid.

Tony mostly just teased Bruce lovingly, the man going toe-to-toe with him, brain whirling madly in tandem with Tony’s and, eventually, Phil exiled Bruce to the back permanently.

Tony chatted with Loki as the man appeared from the archway, the conversation mostly focused on Loki’s cat (a devil of a cat named Heimdal who hated everyone but Loki, much to Loki’s eternal amusement) and how his newest pie recipe was going. “I’ll have to come back and try it for lunch’s dessert,” he responded and Loki winked at him.

“Mr. Stark, you flatter me,” the man stated before he disappeared back into the room where all the deliciousness was made.

Tony didn’t have time to reply before another customer entered. Tony pouted, especially as he was given his coffee refill and a muffin that Bruce had made for him personally (it was a blueberry muffin without any dye).

To add slight insult to injury, Phil told him to ‘go sit at his table like a good boy’.

Tony pouted for a whole ten seconds before he beamed, smearing his muffin with butter, drinking his coffee lovingly until the box was delivered by Phil himself, the man having walked out from behind the utensil-napkin-straw counter. “See you at lunch, Mr. Stark,” Phil stated and headed back around to take care of the morning ‘rush’.

As Tony left, he opened the door for a man in his early thirties, who looked like he spent his time doing…something that  _really_  involved his arms, and headed quickly to work, the _Stark Technologies_ sign gleaming brightly around the corner from the bakery.

Darce better flipping  _love_  him for bringing her Danishes.

He  _hated_  Danishes.


	2. An Archer Sights His Target

Clint Barton gave his thanks as a man who was vaguely familiar that walked out of the bakery with a box under his arm, and noted that a customer, a man with graying hair at the temples, was settled in a booth, already spreading paperwork across the table, writing frantically.

Clint resisted the urge to shake his head and began to take in the place.

He shifted forward to stare at one of the display cases, noting that the golden frames (actually with real gold leaf over it) were beautifully crafted to be something akin to woven vines. He slowly knelt down, eyes flickering up to catch the curly haired man with the hair net (taller then Clint, deceptively built; the man knew how to fight, it was in his stance, probably a martial art of some sort that required complete control because each movement was methodical) and carrying a tray of éclairs before they flickered back down to the display case. His lips quirked at the World Tree that was there, the Nine Realms all resting in the branches, and the serpent chewing on the roots.

He shuffled, still crouched, and covered his mouth to keep in his laugh at the depiction of the story where Thor had to cross-dress. He slowly stood, not recognizing any of the other stories and turned, hoping to find a billboard or something, when his eyes fell on the cash register.

The cash register wasn't an antique replica.

It was a  _restored antique._

As a former carnie, he had gone to quite a few places and he knew what to look for in a replica.

As a former military sniper (and no, he wasn't going to talk about it), he could focus on how the frames had been made to sort-of match the pattern of the cash register.

Clint flexed his fingers, distantly noting the time and the fact that he needed to get to the archery range and lessons.

Being the new archery teacher after winning the Bronze in the Men's Team Archery Division and Silver in Individual at the Olympics, it had put him in high demand for jobs.

He had picked this one because he had never been here when he had been in the circus, where his archery skills had been born and raised, to the military where he had been forced to let them lay to the wayside, and, when he  _left_  (and yes, he left, he was  _not_  dishonorably discharged, no matter what his ex-CO tried to demand) he had honed those skills again until they were shiny and new once more.

Better even.

Had worked long and hard so that he was winning competitions by landslides while trying to hold onto summer camp jobs and shooting range jobs, all with a GED and some college (Military Tactics, Military History...he got his B.A. in History, and don't say a damn...who was he arguing with?) and then...then he was able to attempt to go to the Olympics. He qualified, in that he qualified to go try-out.

He deserved the Gold, damn it.

Damn judges and their...

"Can I help you?" a voice, flat and with only the slightest touch of irritation, asked.

Clint looked up and he was pretty sure it was only his  _fantastic_  self-control that he didn't have his jaw drop.

The man was nicely dressed, considering he was in a bakery. The shirt was...a nice long sleeved shirt, the cheery red of the apron off-set by the man's stern face and receding hair line and piercing blue-gray eyes.

Dear  _God_ the  _eyes_!

They were beautiful, distracting him from the nametag, which read  **'PHIL'**.

"Um...yes. I am new. What do you suggest?" he questioned, barely managing to spit it out, even as a tall man, lithe and finely built, made his way out from the archway, walking along the wall.

"I told you we should have put the menus back up Phil," the man stated, dressed in more casual clothes then Phil, though the apron matched Phil’s.

And his nametag read  **‘LOKI’**.

“The menus require me pulling out the blackboards and writing them. And, as I recall, we lost the blackboards to one of your pranks,” Phil responded, even as he focused entirely on Clint once more.

Clint was pretty sure that the man could kill him with his pinky.

In, at least, eight different ways.

Clint wondered what it said about him that he considered that a bigger turn on then the eyes.

He wondered what he said about him that that was a turn on  _at all._

“I would suggest coffee and one of our sausage rolls,” Phil suggested.

Clint looked over at the second display case, at the way the steam was clinging to the glass. This drew his eyes to where Loki was loading up a tray, carefully, with cinnamon buns, the icing melting into the rolled creases. “British recipie?” he questioned.

“I did a study in London, yes,” Phil answered and Clint’s eyes flickered to where the man was sitting, still scribbling, and then back to Phil.

“I’ll take two. And your largest straight black coffee. Sit anywhere?” Clint questioned, even as Phil  _pushed the buttons_  on the cash register, the amount showing up at the final button revealing that maybe not  _everything_  was authentic about this, considering the ‘tabs’ were new.

He could tell from the lack of fading.

“That will be $7.47. And after you pay,” Phil answered, even as he began to pour the coffee into a rather paper coffee cup, like what one would find in a coffee shop and if ordered to go.

Clint set a $10 bill on the counter and accepted the coffee. “Thanks. Keep the change.” he answered and wandered over to the best spot to watch, both, doors at.

The man with gray hair at the tables was muttering something about ‘radiation flares’.

Phil just put the $10 in the drawer and moved to get Clint’s sausage rolls.

He smiled brightly at Phil as the man walked over, settling the paper plate in front of him. Clint turned on the man, dressed nice, even if he did work in a bakery and it seemed to be a waste of effort, that didn’t stop him from smiling at Phil flirtatiously.

“Thank you, Phil,” Clint answered.

The man quirked an eyebrow at him, but merely responded with a, “You’re welcome.”

He then walked away and over to the man who was muttering. “Will Ben or Sue be joining you today, Reed?” Phil asked, three times, before the man looked up.

Phil never lost his temper. Just kept calm, quiet, and soft.

Not the flat tone with slight irritation he had used on Clint, but the voice fo someone who was used to this progression. “Um…Sue said something about Johnny being in trouble again,” Reed stated and there was a snort of laughter as Loki, who had returned from the back room, overheard that and Reed looked up to glare at him.

“When is he _not_ in trouble, Reed? You better get Sue to stop running to his aid every time, before he bleeds you both dry,” Loki stated and Phil seemed to shoot Loki a look.

“I can still fire you,” Phil warned, before he focused on Reed.

“What about Ben?” Phil pushed and Reed’s eyes flickered up.

“Oh, Ben. Yes. Ben is coming,” Reed answered and Phil nodded.

He turned, about to speak, when Loki _twirled_ , actually flipping _twirled_ , away with a now empty tray. “On it,” he called and Clint wondered if Loki might be insane.

Phil seemed to be considering the same thing.

He then walked around the counter filled with stuff and settled back behind the cash register. More smells poured out and the curly-haired man wandered out with more baked goods, slowly filling up the display cases until Phil pulled out a lace dollie down on the top of the display case, followed by a pressed glass cake pedestal to match the frame (Clint was starting to think that everything had been built about the cash register) and a clear glass dome cover as Loki drifted back out, carrying a pie.

He settled it on the pedestal with the reverence of a setting a carved deity on its shrine and Clint smiled before he pulled out his cell.

Clint huffed in annoyance, wrapped the one sausage roll he hadn’t eaten up, and made his way over, coffee a third of the way gone, over to the counter. He tossed the paper plate away and settled a cover over the coffee before he hurried out.

He was out the door and already texting someone who was near and dear to him.

 _1765 th West Street, 3:30 pm – _ **Clint**

He didn’t expect a reply and he barely managed to keep from dropping it when a reply came back.

 _I swear to god, if this is like that time in Budapest, I will **end you.**_ – **Natasha**

 _Love you too._ – **Clint**

He was grinning like a loon all the way to the center where he worked as Head Archery Instructor.

Time to go subtly insult rich bastards and their children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe this follows little from the original chapter two, aside from the introduction of Clint Barton.


	3. Lunch Rush and Music

Loki spends the morning mostly assisting Bruce get his own things done.

He prefers to make pies and, with three shining pies on display, Phil has decided that he needs to be delegated to cash register duty.

Loki resisted the urge to snarl.

_Cash register duty._

It was like a curse word.

A whole slew of them in fact and Loki resisted the urge to lean on the cash register counter and pout with his chin in his hand while tracing patterns on the counter like a teenage girl.

He  _hated it_  when Phil made him do cash register duty.

He opened his mouth, standing to turn and whine to Phil about making him do this, when a man stepped in.

Loki halted, eyes travelling along the blonde man's physique, noting that this, this was a man who kept the bulk  _nicely_.

And Loki always  _did_  have a thing for people who looked like they could hold their own in a fight, mostly because he liked the idea that someone could have brain and brawn.

Man, woman, transgender, it never mattered to Loki (he was with who he was with and enjoyed every minute of it; he believed the proper term was ‘pansexual’) and  _this man_ , oh,  _this man_  looked like he _could_  and Loki smiled at him, turning his entire body language into flirtatious, though the blonde haired man didn't seem to notice.

Oh well.

"What can I do for you?" Loki questioned.

"Do you have a menu?" the man asked.

Loki considered and shook his head. "Sorry, no, we don't. Our menu varies day to day. Prices are...wow, Phil usually doesn't do that. Hold on one moment darling," he answered and immediately rushed to begin switching out some cards that were just the names to ones with the prices, such as the sausage rolls (two for $1.50), along with making sure to set the coffee prices on their stand on top of the first display case.

The largest size of their coffees was $5.40, but the beans they used were on the expensive side and, besides, if you got it 'for here', you got a cup and that was only two dollars.

All of that, however, was Loki's touch, since Phil had wanted to  _reduce_  prices and, really, this is why Phil would never get rid of him.

Ever.

Because Phil, brilliant though he was, wasn't the sort to be sneaky.

And Loki was sneaky.

"Sorry. Mostly, our menu is 'free form'. We used to have blackboards, however they were lost in an accident," Loki answered and said so with no shame.

More like lost them playing an underhanded trick and never replaced them.

Loki had made sure Robert had  _paid_  for what he had done to Phil, enough said.

“Ah. Well, what do you suggest?” he asked politely.

Loki pondered for a moment and then smiled. “Well, the Cherry Pie special is always good. A slice of pie, whipped cream or vanilla ice cream, and a cup of coffee, for here. Normally, a slice of pie costs $3, whipped cream included, an extra twenty-five cents for the ice cream, and the coffee ranges from $2 to $5.40. However, the Cherry Pie Special is $4, an extra twenty-five cents if you want ice cream,” Loki responded, leaning on the display case, his elbow narrowly missing the coffee prices, one hand resting on his hip.

The man smiled, blue eyes shining and his white teeth practically sparkling.

What was this man, a male model?

“I’ll have the Cherry Pie special,” he answered.

“Coming right up. Have a seat anywhere you like and I’ll bring it right out to you,” Loki answered and turned away, just as Bruce came out.

“Flirting again Loki?” Bruce asked.

“Oh, hush Bruce,” Loki answered, even as he got what the blonde man ordered.

He delivered the pie with whipped cream on top, along with napkin and plastic fork, and the mug of coffee. He then turned away and headed back around, wondering why Phil had set everything here.

He settled back behind the counter and raised an eyebrow when a harried woman with long black hair came in.

Loki resisted the urge to hiss at her.

He knew Sif, vaguely.

Very vaguely.

More like ‘heard about her through a thoroughly pissed off girlfriend who was slightly psycho’, but still.

There were standards.

“Thor,” Sif greeted and Loki managed _not_ to fall over in laughter, or even start snickering, though Bruce _did_ let out an amused huff.

“Bruce, I need you back here,” Phil called and Bruce immediately returned to the back.

Loki twisted, about to ask, when Ben came in.

“Coming up Benny,” Loki called and Ben shook his head a bit at him before waving and joining Reed at his booth.

He poured the coffee and made sure to place two sausage rolls on the paper plate, walking over to Reed, setting it down next to Ben, even as he talked with Reed about the next stage of research. “Well, if we can get Doom to cough up the money we need,” Reed muttered and Loki scoffed.

“Victor wouldn’t cough up money to save his own life. He’s the Latevarian heir to the throne, with diplomatic immunity,” Loki retorted and smiled sweetly at Ben.

“So, honey, how are you? I heard about the bitch that broke your heart,” Loki added, ignoring Reed’s hiss of ‘Loki!’

Ben, however, frowned at the coffee mug. Loki gently pat his shoulder and gave a small smile. “Don’t worry, Benny. You’ll find someone who deserves you. I always told you you could do better and the fact she left you because of something that makes you a little different on the outside proves me right. If she really loved you, she never would have left you. The foods on the house,” Loki answered and walked away.

“Thor, pay attention! I swear, you’re impossible,” Sif hissed and Loki glanced over to find that Thor was having his face, literally, turned to face Sif, her nails biting slightly into Thor’s beard.

Loki shook his head and focused on digging out his wallet to pay for the sausage rolls.

Phil would probably kill him if the till wasn’t balanced.

He watched Thor eat the pie while he and Sif talked about ‘photo shoots’ and ‘public relations’ and ‘damn it Thor, why can’t you fucking settle down?’

Apparently, he was a wild one.

“You and the Warriors Three are a pain in the ass. I hate you all,” Sif hissed and Loki blinked in surprise.

Oh, so _that’s_ what it was.

Thor was in a band.

Unexpected.

Loki discretely pulled out his handheld and began to search the internet for ‘Thor and the Warriors Three’ and blinked a bit in shock.

Sif was there too, as their manager and female lead.

Thor was the male lead and lead guitar (those two usually did go hand in hand it seemed).

‘Hogun the Grim’ was the keyboardist.

‘Fandral the Dashing’ was another guitar and bass.

‘Volstagg the Vast’ was on the drums.

They were fast rising.

“What’s wrong?” Sif questioned.

“Nothing just…something’s off about this pie,” Thor answered and Loki’s head snapped up.

Reed was still talking, but Ben had twisted around.

If Johnny, trouble-maker extraordinaire had been around, he would have been bouncing in his seat like a toddler that needed to go to the bathroom.

Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“What do you mean?” Sif asked.

Thor took another bite and answered, “It tastes almost…bland.”

The handheld clattered to the ground as Loki attempted to leap over the counter with an unholy screech of fury.

He snarled and attempted to claw his way through the air, even though Bruce had caught him halfway and was hauling him into the air, legs off the ground and not being able to gain purchase, shouting at Thor in Icelandic.

That _bastard_!

How could _he_ , with his deader than dead taste buds, _dare_ to question one of _Loki’s_ pies?

Oh, Thor was going down.

So far down, it wouldn’t be funny.

How could Loki have _ever_ been attracted to such a buffoon?

Obviously a mistake on his end.

Loki snarled obscenities and continued trying to crawl his way out of Bruce’s grip, struggling even as Bruce easily pinned him against a wall.

“Enough,” Bruce ordered and Loki stilled.

“Enough. Go on lunch break,” he continued.

Loki whined and pouted against being treated like a child, even as he went up the stairs that were hidden to the break room above.

He stopped muttering bad things about Phil, cash registers, and morons with deader than dead taste buds when he saw Phil’s lunch, untouched, still in the fridge.

Loki sighed and ran a hand down his face, leaning lightly against the fridge door.

“Damn,” Loki muttered and got his own lunch out (cucumber and ranch sandwich with carrots and extra ranch dressing, along with bottled water) and kicked the door shut.

Seems he interrupted Phil’s lunch break.

Again.

“Damn,” Loki repeated and focused on his food.

Well, nothing he could do about it now.

Still didn't stop his food from sitting like lead in his gut.


	4. The Red-Headed Woman in the Leopard Print Dress

Natasha scowled a bit as she walked down the street, ignoring the way the men, and some women, were turning to watch her walk down the street toward the address Clint had sent her. She had dressed in leopard print today, which meant that her sunglasses, her short, sleeveless, dress, and the high-heels were all that, though her purse was black.

Back when Clint had been her photographer and she had been in the small time, living from hand to mouth, and Clint had been just a starving everything (he’d been a carnie, he’d been a stunt double in TV shows, he’d been an actor in very cheesy sci-fi movies, usually as the first dead guy, and just about anything else he doesn’t need a college degree to do, even if he has one, because he loves to play dumb). She had hired him because they both had no money and some money from something was worth it and they could pool their resources, and Natasha had _liked_ him, they had become _friends_ , and Natasha didn’t have many of those.

Which was the only reason that Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow of the Modeling World (she did not come up with that name, the magazines did, because she seemed to personify beautiful death), was walking down the street, past the Stark Industries building, and into _Sweet Nothings Bakery_.

And it was like stepping through a time portal. She glanced over her sunglasses and looked around, eyes sweeping, before they settled on Phil (according to his name tag), and she smiled, removing the sunglasses and tucking them into the v-neck of her dress, the lenses on the outside. She sauntered up, past Sif and Thor (she recognized them from the internet), and making her hips sway, and she leaned against the counter.

Phil’s eyes locked onto hers and she smiled.

They had never paused in anything, not her cleavage, not her hips, or her legs.

He had stared straight into her eyes and then he asked, “How may I help you?”

“Do you have non-fat milk?” she asked.

“Yes,” Phil responded.

She smiled, genuinely, at him, and said, “Great. A largest size of non-fat milk you have and a cinnamon bun.”

He pressed the buttons and recited off her total. She immediately popped open her purse and pulled a twenty before sliding it over. “I’m meeting a friend, so can you put whatever he orders onto that? His name is Clint and he’s a bit of a moron, but he was in here earlier,” Natasha questioned.

Phil considered and nodded. “I remember him. Blonde, blue-gray eyed, muscled arms, won the silver at the Olympics in archery?” he responded and Natasha nodded before she pulled off her sunglasses to put them on her head.

“That’s him. Is it good to do that? Otherwise, he won’t let me pay. He’s very irritating when he insists on paying when I have more money than him,” she answered.

“I can do that,” Phil answered, pulling out a pad of paper and writing it all down before sliding it back.

“Thanks Phil. Keep the change after. There probably won’t be much, but I don’t want to jingle,” Natasha answered and he gave a quiet ‘welcome’ before he put together her small meal and settled a glass bottle of milk on the counter.

“Cartons irritate me,” he explained when she raised an eyebrow and she smiled a bit.

“Me too,” she answered and collected it all up before she drifted over to the utensil counter to grab napkins and a knife and fork, both plastic.

Settling into a booth she twisted the lid off the bottle and began to cut into her cinnamon bun. At the first bite, she was in love with the place.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Clint almost crashed into the door before he managed to get it inside and looked around, immediately walking over to Natasha. “Sorry I’m late. I had to finish up a lesson,” he stated.

“It’s fine. Go get food and coffee. Now,” Natasha answered and he saluted cheekily before he walked over to Phil.

“Hello Phil,” he greeted.

“Hello. How may I help you this afternoon?”

“Have any more sausage rolls?” Clint asked.

“Always,” Phil answered.

“Two of those and a really, really, big coffee,” Clint answered.

Phil nodded and answered, “Go catch up with your friend. I’ll bring it to your table.”

Clint blinked a bit, and then turned toward Natasha, noticing that the guy from this morning was still there, though he was joined by a buff looking guy that seemed to have a slight condition, and was tapping some of the papers, before he glared at her.

He ignored the blonde man and the black haired chick.

“You cheater!” he proclaimed as he walked back to the booth.

“Naturellement,” she answered cheerfully.

He scowled at her as he slumped into the booth seat across from her and she ignored him, finishing off her cinnamon bun. She looked up in surprise as someone slid a plate next to her with another on it and Clint looked up to see the curly haired guy from before there, his name tag reading ‘Bruce.’

“Phil said you’d want another. Don’t ask, he always knows,” Bruce explained softly and settled the coffee in front of Clint.

And then he walked away.

Natasha watched him go and then turned toward Clint. “We’re coming here _every_ day,” she proclaimed.

Clint beamed.


End file.
